


An Ignoct for Every Season

by Dark_Ruby_Regalia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Prompt Fill, Slice of Life, Smut, Variable content!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 18:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/pseuds/Dark_Ruby_Regalia
Summary: This is a collection of prompt-fills received from Tumblr! I'll update tags as I go, but will let you know now I don't go dark or hurt or heavy. My Ignoct are always going to be happy andalive.Each prompt fill will have notes introducing its content, so you will have fair warning of things like splinters and cocks and whatnots ;)





	1. They'll turn up.

For the prompt: Ignis can't find his glasses, which are perched on top of his head. Noctis doesn't help.

Contains: KISSING!

 

* * *

 

 

Noctis, returned King of Lucis, saviour of Eos, was a man in possession of several unfair talents, and Ignis was currently a victim to at least two: 

The insistent distraction of soft, warm lips against his own, giving way on occasion to the expert tease of teeth nipping lightly at his scar, whose sensitivity was a known quantity currently under exploit; and some sly, nimble fingers, picking at his buttons while his attention was focused on the kiss, removing them from the secure dock of their buttonhole without even the slightest hint at a tug or a pull.

He didn’t realise he was quite so undone until a stray hand slid along the bare skin of his chest, thumbing over a nipple, describing lazy circles there before it slunk off to some darker shadow still hidden by fabric. He gasped with the surprise and the sensation, a giveaway tremble of pleasure to his breath, his filament of composure stretching thin, thinner, unravelled and ready to snap.

He caught hold of it just in time, re-tucking his shirt as fast as Noctis could pull it free from his pants, his hips evading the custom vice of thighs so well-practiced to trap him.

Finally he had the upper hand, and they paused, foreheads together, breathing heavy. 

“Two more meetings,” Ignis whispered between them, though it was undoubtedly more to keep himself in check than it was to remind his King. 

Noctis had ended the tussle with both hands at Ignis’ face, stroking at his cheeks, bedding in his hair. With a sigh he let go to slump back against his desk, watching as Ignis re-buttoned and re-aligned. Adjusted himself. 

But he didn’t leave right away. He began patting at his pockets, pulling the room apart with his eyes, a pointed expression of puzzlement displacing the beautiful kiss-soft ardour Noctis had worked so hard for.

“What’s up, Iggy?” Noctis asked, though he already knew, and had no intention to confess to it.

“My glasses,” Ignis said, too focused on his search to notice the grin Noctis couldn’t hide to save himself. “Can you help me find them?”

“They’ll turn up,” was all the answer he got. He flicked a deadpan look in Noctis’ direction, recognising instantly what that building amusement implied. He reached a hand to his own head and gingerly placed it at his crown. And there they were, perched in wait, where they’d been displaced from the bridge of his nose to clear the way for Noctis’ impatience. 

“You...are a danger to yourself and others,” Ignis snipped, feigning insult on his way to the door. “Mostly to me.”

“Meet me back here at 6?”

Ignis paused at the door handle, glancing over his shoulder to catch one final look at his lover, reclining on his desk in a way not the least bit royal. “Of course,” he said, and he winked as he left, and Noctis fell backwards onto the piles of paperwork he’d no hope of concentrating on for the rest of the day, while he waited...

 


	2. When you're tired and impressed and you propose by accident but it's OK.

For the prompt: Ignis proposes to Noctis and Prompto gets Noctis's shocked face on camera.

Contains: A SWEAR WORD! And a daemon battle.

 

* * *

 

It was an encounter hard-fought, and at one point almost lost, but they’d held it - and themselves - together. Sometimes it seemed, when battle-weary, they shifted to a synchronisation not entirely due to their rigorous training, but more to some subconscious affinity for each other. As if a sixth sense - a feeling, spatial and Aware - came into play, that made them each a point in the web that held All Things, in which they found themselves connected and finely tuned.

It was happening now, their upper hand becoming evident, a clarity to their attacks bringing the daemon towards the inevitability of its own personal, premature dawn. Noct was slipping in and out of vision, a trail of hollow, blue ghost-forms mapping his past and a shimmer of materialising sparks chasing his present. He appeared by Ignis’ side just in time to dodge a dagger-swipe, dashing in below it to deliver a flurry of his own, then returning back to back, the reassuring touch of Ignis’ hand at his side locating them before they launched again. Noctis leapt skyward, the final blow delivered decisively from an impossible vantage-point mid-air. Then he - with a liquid grace bordering languorous, as if nothing came more natural - flipped backwards to avoid the falling beast, to land light as a feather beside his adviser, dark hair settling about his face, the crackle of magic bright in the air, alive in his eyes. Breathtaking.

“Would you just godsdamned fucking marry me,” Ignis muttered, too exhausted to hide his admiration, nor, apparently, his fondness.

Noct, caught completely unawares in the sudden switch of context, was working hard to catch up - every turn of his processing visible on his face as his disbelief wrestled with the million silent yesses that were desperate to tumble from between his lips.

But it all came to an abrupt end with an interruption from their companions, and the urgency to find food, a wash, and much needed sleep ushered them with haste towards a haven.

Later though, by the campfire, that precise moment came right back to them in Prompto’s photo roll. Unwittingly captured on film were Noct’s wide eyes, his bashful smile and a beautiful, soft blush of delight, and right there - in that sweet and unguarded expression - Ignis had his answer.


	3. You can leave your gloves on.

For the prompt: Noct pretty much salivating at watching Iggy putting his gloves on/doing something in which Noct's eyes can't help but watch Ignis's gloved hands.

Contains: A SPLINTER! And an Ignis who uses himself to his own advantage ;)

 

* * *

 

 

Prompto had squealed his way out of the tent, squeamish and shuddering as if the splinter was his own. Gladio was close behind him, shrugging off any responsibility without thought. Ignis and Noctis were left alone, eyeing each other silently, secretly thankful the dynamic of the four broke in half so easily, so often, and always with this outcome. Just the two of them. 

“Might I see it, Noct?” Ignis asked, and he held his hand out slowly, for reassurance. Nothing to hide, the gesture said; a look was just a look.

“It’s fine,” Noctis said, keeping his hand cradled close to his chest. “It’ll sort itself out. Maybe a potion.”

“Potions will heal your skin with the splinter still in; we need to remove it first.” He flexed his outstretched fingers, patient but insistent. “Trust me?”

Noctis did. He trusted Ignis with every particle in his body, every tendril of his spirit, every wont of his will. And separate to that, he trusted him with his logic: they had a lifetime of accumulated proof to support his intangible faith; Ignis was, at every turn,  _ for  _ him. 

This splinter, though, was not part of him at all. It was buried in the soft flesh of his palm, holding him captive, convincing him the horror of its removal far outweighed the pain of its presence. Noct was aware of the irrationality of it; knew he’d experienced worse, though suffering unexpectedly was somehow far less confronting than suffering by design. He laughed a nervous huff through a self-conscious smile and reached his hand away from himself, placing it vulnerable into the waiting embrace of Ignis’. 

Ignis really did just look. He delicately turned Noct’s hand in his, analysing like a precious curio, gently stroking at the skin a safe distance from the trauma with his leather-clad fingertips and a featherlight touch. Then he looked up at Noct over the top of his glasses, the spark of a plan igniting his eyes. 

“It’ll come out simply enough,” he said.

Noctis nodded. Permission.

Ignis kept hold with one hand while he raised the other to his mouth, to grip the tip of one glove finger between his teeth. He lingered on it a little, closed his eyes as he gave a sustained tug, and his hand came free. He left the glove dangling from parted lips while he stretched his elegant, unsheathed fingers. Then, finding eye contact again, he took it from his mouth, laid it in his lap, and pulled Noct towards him with a firm grip around his wrist. 

Noct let out a gasp of surprise as he found himself suddenly inches from Ignis’ face. Bare fingers put pressure just beneath his chin for a few seconds, tilting him into alignment, and Ignis kissed him. It was slow to begin - barely a brush of mouths, a nip at his lip, a tongue flicked moist and shallow to smooth the way. Very still, as far as kisses go; a bit more than a hint, but not by much. Noctis took it though, and felt his desire kindle, the pleasant thrill of it building in his skin, seeping through him from an origin point buried somewhere safe and covert. He liked to think it was his heart - and sure enough, his heart was in on it, both as organ and as symbol of affection -  and he knew most of it was fate-like; a strong and kindred bond. Nobody in all of Eos would know him the way Ignis did. Not with that clarity, to that depth. But he couldn’t deny the base aspect of it either: the attraction and the body hunger. The desperate longing accumulated through lack of opportunity lately. The possessive knowledge that Ignis was, at every turn,  _ his. _

It escalated quickly. Soon, Ignis’ gloved hand was tangling in Noct’s hair, the loom of his body insisting Noct fall back into the mess of sleeping bags beneath them, pressing him into it all, searching for his soft spots and hard spots alike. Ignis’ mouth at his neck, hot and breathy, hands roving to tug at the lower hem of his shirt, finding his skin, pausing for no ceremony before crossing that familiar threshold. 

Noct found himself with two hands free to do with as he pleased. “What about my splinter?” he asked, though he wasn’t complaining things had moved so thoroughly  _ on. _

“Already gone,” Ignis mouthed at his jawline, on his way back face to face. He took his glasses off and placed them as far away as a long stretch would allow. “While you were first distracted.”

“You planned this!”

  
“A body will focus on pleasure before it focuses on pain. It made sense.” He rolled his hips into Noct’s, knowing exactly how to line them up for the best of the pressure with none of the pinch. Practice made perfect. They were good at this now. “Besides, I wanted you.  _ Desperately.” _


	4. Still not used to this.

For the prompt: Clumsy and flustered Ignis.

Contains: An Ignis lost in thought, and a startle, and a tummy hug!

 

* * *

 

 

Noctis had come home exactly like he normally did, if a habit could be formed in a matter of weeks. This was the “new” apartment -  _ their  _ new apartment - uncovered from the ruins and braced with plates and bolts salvaged from what had fallen by its side. Patched and pinned for now, by necessity, while the city healed around it. Despite all that creaked and cracked, it was feeling more like home than anything had in a long while. Since they’d left Insomnia, he realised, and he hurt for it in the way burdens of memory hurt: comfortable, if not a comfort, for its worn-in constance.

He let himself in, and made to call out his presence, when the sight of Ignis lost in thought by the window stole a sigh from his breath; nothing more. Not even the latch of the door disturbed him. 

They’d spent a summer in the sunshine - the first in ten years - and Ignis was somehow richer for it. The uniform mouse of his hair was giving way to pale streaks of light-soaked blonde; his face touched upon by a soft brush of colour that shaped him to something more solid. Not that the pale had been bad; it bought out his lips. He’d never settle for pallid when he could be porcelain.  

He had a notebook in his hand and a pen to his lip, paused in body while his mind wandered, face turned towards the open window that welcomed the light afternoon breeze. This window came with its downfall, they’d discovered: dead starscourge, still persistently airborne, dusting their lives and collecting in corners. To begin with they needed to sweep it up daily, but now perhaps it was only twice a week. Evidence there was less of the stuff, which lit their eyes with a strange joy as they’d gather the little black pile of soot into the dustpan, to dump unceremoniously into the bin. 

Noctis padded over to him, a little less quiet than usual, in the hope his entrance would become known gradually. No such luck though. He ended up close, in danger of looming, with no option but to speak his presence. 

“A new recipe?” he said, teasing a past habit that still felt vivid fresh to him: Ignis set free on a web of open roads, relaxed in the autonomy they offered, collecting inspiration for new ingredient combinations, taking notes.

Ignis startled with a flurry of limbs; his notebook dropped to the table, and his pen to the floor. He whirled in his chair, flustered and self-conscious in a way that seemed excessive for simply being caught unawares. 

“Gods, Noct, how long have you been there?”

“I’ve only just come in. Are you alright?”

Ignis was fidgety, thoroughly abashed. “Yes… fine… I’m blushing, aren’t I?”

“You know I think it’s a good look on you.”

Ignis pulled Noctis close, pressing his face against Noct’s tummy, wrapping his arms around his waist to trap him there. His breath seeped warm through Noct’s shirt to his skin, a little chuckle suppressed by the contact. Noctis thread fingers through the back of his hair, holding him as well as he could in this position. For a moment his eyes flicked curiously to the notebook, splayed open from its rough landing. He recognised his name there, beautiful in Ignis’ loose informal scrawl, and averted his eyes respectfully. He did wonder, though, what he’d been the subject of; whether it was the reason for this shy Ignis to hide in the folds of his fabric.

“I suppose I’m still not used to this,” Ignis said, muffled as he was by Noct’s embrace.

“To what?”

“To you coming home.”


End file.
